the problem with john
by Nameless Wonderer
Summary: John isn't sleeping. He knows he should but he is distracted all the time. Sherlock is even noticing. Suggested johnlock like the show


John yawned deeply, he was exhausted. He had defiantly been up too late last night. He had to admit 1am wasn't that late, in fact it was early for him. Usually he didn't go to sleep until about 5, once even to 6 and was woken up an hour later by his alarm clock. But 1 still was too late

What the hell was he doing up at that late hour he would ask himself constantly, especially since he was suffering. Why?! He didn't enjoy it; it just kind of grabbed him and sucked him in. It probably was some sort of conspiracy. The government was collecting people's identities or maybe even souls, keeping silly information about them in big folders in top secret libraries or something. Not that John cared; he would still be up at 5am even if that was the case.

John knew it was getting bad when Sherlock commented on it the other day; it would take something that was seriously affecting John for Sherlock to notice and express his concern. John would like to say he reacted reasonably but that would be a lie. He kind of felt bad about it, Sherlock wouldn't talk for nearly a week after that, but stopped his silence after John mention that Sherlock not speaking was a blessing.

One day Sherlock found him crying in his room. He made up some excuse about being stressed and his sisters alcoholism, but really he was crying over something else

Sherlock saw through him. He was Sherlock Holmes. He had become more and more concerned about John. He was always in his room, staying up till morning and forgetting to do things like the shopping and the dishes. That's what Sherlock did not John. John was the reliable adult and Sherlock was, well Sherlock. That why their relationship worked so well. That and they understood each other and right now Sherlock didn't understand John at all.

He was worried that John had gone off him. The comment about his silence the other day had hurt him a lot more than he ever thought it would. John was encoring him and found him annoying, especially when he had a big tantrum when Sherlock merely enquired what he was doing all the time.

Sherlock at first thought it could be another girlfriend, but his sudden lack of personal hygiene suggested otherwise. Maybe unrequited love but it had to be a big deal for John to have reacted so strongly. Sherlock was at a loss and when he couldn't even work out what was wrong with John he began to doubt himself. Sherlock wasn't the paranoid sort, but John's current attitude made him worry and now John was crying by himself in his room.

John tried to dry his eyes discreetly on the bed cover as Sherlock still stood in the door staring intently at him. "The longer he stands there the more he will deduct" John fretted.

"Go away, Sherlock" he moaned at him. Sherlock, hurt, turned to leave, when he decided to confront John.

"Do you hate me?" he asked quietly. John taken aback by the question and Sherlock's low tone didn't know how to respond.

If Sherlock had looked at John's face he would of seen the confusion there and wouldn't have continued

"it's just that you have been avoiding me and yelling at me and been more touchy than usual. Now you are crying in your room be yourself"

"You are ridiculous" laughed John making Sherlock look up in surprise and realize his mistake.

"Well I did let my head be ruled by my heart" he admitted to himself, "but why then have you been acting so weird?"

John blushed "you know, stress"

"That is not it"

John bit his lip and looked down at his feet. Well the first step is admitting it "I've become addicted to a site called tumblr"

"Oh, then why were you crying" said Sherlock, clearly confused.

"I just read the cutest destiel angst fic," said john, his voice getting higher pitched and faster with every syllable, "it was so tragic. They danced around their feelings for each other until Dean died in Cas's arms and they confessed their love for each other and kissed passionately before Dean said he was scared and then died while Cas cried over his body and and and..." John started sobbing again "there was an epilogue that was a letter from Cas to Dean which turned out to be a suicide note."

Sherlock, shying away from John's emotional outburst left the room.

"Crap," John thought, "he probably thinks I'm insane now" and buried his face in his pillow and thought about death. He heard the soft padding of feet and smelt the comforting smell of tea. This was even worse! Sherlock had gone and got Mrs Hudson, he could die!

He felt the light pressure of a hand on his shoulder. It was too big to be Mrs Hudson. John turned his head to see Sherlock there standing with John's favourite mug in his hand. He sat up and Sherlock sat down beside him, handing him the warm cup of tea.

"You made me tea" he asked quietly. Sherlock nodded.

"And it's not part of an experiment?" Sherlock rolled his eyes, annoyed. John took a tentative sip,

"This is a good cup of tea!"

Sherlock smiled and patted john's shoulder and said smugly

"I make the best tea."'


End file.
